


your heart starts skipping steps

by bayloriffic



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 16:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/750719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bayloriffic/pseuds/bayloriffic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Savior and an Evil Queen walk into a bar...</p><p>
  <em>“What the hell are you doing here?” Regina demands, cutting her eyes in Emma’s direction. Aaaand there it is, the Regina she knows and, well. Not loves, obviously, but...knows.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Emma rolls her eyes as the bartender walks up. “I’ll have one of whatever she’s having,” she tells him, nodding at the glass in Regina’s hand. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	your heart starts skipping steps

Emma only ends up at The Rabbit Hole because it's one of the few places open in Storybrooke past nine on a Sunday night, and she's got at least a few more hours to kill before it's safe to go back to the apartment.

Henry’s spending the night with Neal, and David and Mary Margaret wanted some time alone, which means Emma's got to fend for herself for a few hours. She should be grateful -- it's been a while since she's actually had a chance to just be by herself for a while -- but instead she just feels kind of bored and lonely. 

So she grabs a burger at Granny’s, but even after a drink and dinner and dessert it’s only nine o’clock, and she promised Mary Margaret she wouldn’t be home until after midnight and, well. She’s already experienced that particular childhood trauma once already, thank you very much. And so: The Rabbit Hole it is. 

The place is pretty dead, just Anton and a couple of the other Dwarves playing pool in the back and a solitary figure sitting at the bar. It’s not until Emma’s already halfway across the room that she realizes that solitary figure is Regina. Ugh, of course. Because Emma’s night isn’t crappy enough.

Regina’s got her head bent over the bar, a glass of something clear in front of her, but she straightens when Emma sits down, schooling her face into an impassive mask. There’s a second before she does though, a moment where she looks sad and tired and strangely young, and it’s enough to unsettle Emma, make her feels unbalanced as she takes a seat at the bar. It's just...she looks so lost. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Regina demands, cutting her eyes in Emma’s direction. Aaaand there it is, the Regina she knows and, well. Not loves, obviously, but...knows.

Emma rolls her eyes as the bartender walks up. “I’ll have one of whatever she’s having,” she tells him, nodding at the glass in Regina’s hand. 

“What are you doing here?” Regina says again, slowly this time, like maybe Emma didn't understand her the first time.

“I’m getting a drink,” Emma says.

“Get one somewhere else,” Regina says, like Emma doesn't have just as much right as she does to be in this crappy bar, like Emma’s presence is some huge affront to her existence.

"No," Emma says matter-of-factly. "I'm staying."

"Of course you are," Regina mumbles bitterly, but doesn't say anything else. For one brief moment, Emma thinks that maybe they can both sit here and have a drink and manage to be civil to each other. After all, stranger things have happened.

But then: “Shouldn’t you be off cavorting with my son and your insipid parents?” Regina asks. She takes a long drink, draining her glass just as the bartender appears again, setting two drinks on the bar in front of them. 

Emma gives him a grateful smile, pulling the glass over to her. She’s got no idea what she’s drinking, but it looks pretty innocuous, clear with a twist of lime. 

Besides, whatever it is, Regina seems to be drinking it pretty easily, so. It can’t be anything too bad. 

“Henry’s with his father, and David and Mary Margaret are...” Emma trails off, not sure the best way to say that her parents kicked her out so that they could have sex. “Busy.”

Regina smirks at that, picking up her drink and draining half of it in one go. Emma follows suit, taking a long swallow, and, oh god, what the hell is she drinking? She coughs when the alcohol hits her throat, acrid and sharp, making her eyes water and her sinuses burn. 

“What the hell is that?” she gasps, blinking away tears. 

“Good isn’t it?” Regina says, glancing at her sidelong, her smirk turning into a grin. 

“Yeah,” Emma says, swallowing hard, trying to get the taste out of her mouth. She clears her throat and wipes the back of her hand across her lips. “Delicious.”

Regina's grin widens and she downs the rest of her drink. She sets the glass on the bar and looks over at Emma, raising her eyebrow mockingly at Emma’s mostly-full glass. 

“Shut up,” Emma grumbles.

Regina laughs, soft and melodious, and it surprises Emma so much that she actually jumps a little.

It’s just...the laugh sounds genuine, like Regina’s actually amused, not just reveling in someone else’s pain. Not that Emma’s not in pain. After all, she's pretty sure she's drinking turpentine, but just. Regina sounds different, somehow. More human. 

She signals to the barkeep for another round, and Emma takes a deep breath and knocks back the rest of her drink.

“Fuck,” she gasps, slamming the glass down on the bar harder than is probably necessary. 

"So tell me," Regina says, stirring her drink with one of those little plastic straws. "Did you know that Henry's father was Rumpelstiltskin's long lost son?"

"No way," she says. The bartender slides another drink in front of her, and Emma takes a swig, trying to swallow it before any of it hits her tongue. "Did you?" she asks. "Know about Henry, I mean. When you...did you know?"

Regina snorts. "Not a chance," she says in the careful tones of the well and truly drunk. "And what about the fiancée? What can you tell me about her?"

"Tamara?" Emma says, surprised. "I don't know. Neal met her in New York, and they're engaged, and...that's it really."

Regina rolls her eyes. "Of course," she says, like she wasn't expecting anything else. 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Emma demands. She's already on her third drink, a full glass suddenly in front of her again, and everything around her has started to take on a kind of slow, unreal quality. The bartender must have been some kind of wizard back in fairy tale land, but no matter how hard Emma stares at him, he just looks like a regular guy.

"It means," Regina says. "That our son is spending the evening with a con artist and some woman neither one of us knows anything about, and you seem rather unconcerned by this."

" _Our_ son?" Emma repeats, incredulous. It should piss Emma off that Regina's basically implying that Emma's a crappy mother, and it does of course, but it's just. Did Regina actually just admit that Emma has some right to Henry? That they're in this thing together? 

"My son," Regina corrects quickly, turning away from Emma and glancing down at the bar.

Emma doesn't say anything else. She thinks she might be half-drunk already, everything seemingly a little disconnected, the edges of her awareness hazy. Even Regina looks softer, her lipstick faded and mascara smudged in the hollows under her eyes. 

There’s a strand of hair falling down in front of Regina’s eyes, dark and sleek and a little wild, and Emma has to clinch her hand in a fist to stop herself from reaching out and brushing it away, and just. Seriously? What the hell is wrong with her tonight?

They just sit there for a while, neither one of them talking, both of them drinking way too much, way too fast. It’s a strangely comfortable silence, and the more Emma drinks, the more she can’t seem to stop glancing over at Regina, looking at her sidelong, watching the way her throat works as she takes long swallows of her drink. The bartop is sticky beneath her hands, and Emma slides her finger idly through the ring of condensation left by her glass.

It’s been a long few weeks, and it’s kind of nice just sitting there, not worrying about the awkwardness of dealing with Neal or whether or not her parents are going to leave her for the Enchanted Forest or what she’s supposed to pack for Henry’s lunch everyday. 

Next to her, Regina looks deceptively normal, like she could be any pretty woman in a bar, not the evil ruler of a fairy tale world. For just a second, Emma wonders what would have happened if they were anyone else -- if she wasn’t the savior and if Regina wasn’t the Evil Queen. If they were just two women sharing a drink in a crappy bar.

The thought unsettles her more than it should, so she takes another drink and says, “So you’re really not going to tell me what this is?”

“Are you concerned I’m trying poison you, Miss Swan?” Regina asks, tracing one blood red fingernail along the edge of her glass. 

She sounds pretty much like she always does -- annoyed and superior -- but there’s something just below the surface, a kind of playfulness to her exasperation, like maybe she’s not at this exact moment planning Emma’s demise. Or maybe Emma’s just drunk.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Emma mumbles.

“Yes, well,” Regina says, her voice tight. She’s staring down at the bar, a blank look in her eyes, and with the sudden clarity of the well-and-truly drunk, Emma knows exactly what she’s thinking about, how she must imagining Henry in that hospital bed, unconscious and pale and hooked up to all those tubes and machines, and Emma feels a surge of intense, unexpected pity.

“Listen, Regina,” Emma says, but can’t actually bring herself to apologize, no matter how drunk she is or how sad Regina looks. 

Once Regina seems to realize Emma’s not going to say anything else, she throws back the rest of her drink and gets to her feet. She’s a little unsteady, stumbling slightly, and Emma reaches out to catch her, her hand grasping Regina’s. Her skin is warmer than Emma expects.

Regina blinks. “Excuse me,” she says, pulling her hand away. She stares at Emma for a beat before she turns on her heel and heads in the direction of the bathrooms. 

Emma covers her face with her hands, sighing heavily and pressing her forehead against the cool, smooth wood of the bar. She feels dizzy and kind of lightheaded, but it's just...Regina looked so lost, and before Emma can overthink it, she’s heading over to the corridor where the bathrooms are. 

God, she can’t believe she’s going to check on the freaking Evil Queen, but well. It’s not like Emma’s a stranger to sitting in bars, feeling like shit, so. She’s right outside ladies’ room when the door swings open and Regina’s there, looking poised and regal in her business suit and heels. 

“Miss Swan,” she says coolly, but her voice is scratchy and a little rough. “Is there something you want?”

“I --” Emma starts, then stops. Regina’s still just standing there, her make-up looks perfect and she doesn’t have a hair out of place, but her eyes are red-rimmed and the tip of her nose is pink and raw, like she’s been crying, and Emma kisses her before she has a chance to even think about what she’s doing.

Regina tastes familiar, like alcohol and regret, like Emma’s life before Storybrooke, before Henry and her parents and impossible curses cast by evil queens. Emma’s heart feels like it’s beating way too fast, like it’s skipping in her chest.

It takes a second before Regina responds, her mouth opening slightly under Emma’s, and then they’re kissing, not touching anywhere other than their mouths, the two of them standing alone in the hallway of the only shitty bar in town. 

After a couple of seconds, Regina puts her hand on Emma’s arm, right above the crook of her elbow, like she’s going to push her away, but she doesn’t, just tightens her fingers against the thick leather of Emma’s jacket, her fingertips pressing so hard Emma thinks she might leave a bruise. Emma leans into her, reaching one hand up to cup the back of Regina neck, stroking her thumb along the pulse point below her ear. Regina makes a quiet, desperate noise in the back of her throat, one that makes Emma heart skip in her chest.

The kiss feels terrifying and exhilarating and inevitable, like falling from a great height, like finally letting go. 

Emma’s not sure how long the kiss lasts -- it feels like forever, it feels like a moment -- but then there’s a loud crash behind the bar, the sound of glasses shattering on the ground, and she and Regina are both stepping back, neither one of them saying anything as they stare at each other in the dimly lit hallway.

Her head feels like it’s spinning -- she’s drunk, she reminds herself a little desperately, she’s very, _very_ drunk -- but she can’t help but noticing how hard Regina’s breathing, the way her chest rises and falls under her buttoned-up business suit. She’s staring at Emma with wide, startled eyes, her pupils so dilated her eyes are almost black, and her lips are red and swollen. 

Emma can’t stop staring at her mouth. She wants to touch her again, wants hear that soft hitch in her breath, wants to feel the way she hummed quietly when Emma ran her tongue against her bottom lip. She can still taste the waxy sweetness of Regina’s lipstick, artificial and strangely sweet.

“Well,” Regina says, but her voice isn’t quite steady, and she's not looking Emma in the eye. “Goodnight, Miss Swan.” 

Emma just stands there as Regina brushes past her, heading towards the door, her heels clicking loudly in the near-empty bar. She's almost all the way to the door when Emma manages to get her bearings.

"Regina!" she calls, not sure what she's going to say.

For a second, Regina keeps walking, but then she stops with one hand on the door, turning to glance back at where Emma's still standing in the shadowy corridor. "Yes, Miss Swan?"

The room's gone silent and Emma's suddenly very aware that everyone is staring at them, probably waiting for some kind of big showdown. Instead, Emma takes a few steps forward and says, "I'll tell Henry you say hi."

Regina blinks, one corner of her mouth curling up in a sad smile.

"Thank you," she says, so quietly Emma barely hears her, and then she's gone, heading out into the cool, quiet night, the door slamming closed behind her, leaving Emma standing alone in the middle of the bar, her heart still racing away in her chest.


End file.
